


How the Dragon Got Its Scales

by Clarensjoy



Series: General: Post Canon [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charlie is a good uncle, Gen, Storytelling, The Burrow, obligatory dragons, unresearched original Welsh mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarensjoy/pseuds/Clarensjoy
Summary: "Momentarily, Charlie wondered how he had chosen the same week to come to the Burrow that Ginny had an overseas exhibition match and Harry a covert auror mission. He swept the thought away and rearranged his pillow. He only knew one story off by heart."James can't sleep, so Charlie tells him a bedtime story.
Relationships: James Sirius Potter & Charlie Weasley
Series: General: Post Canon [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903465
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	How the Dragon Got Its Scales

‘Uncle Charlie?’ A tentative voice came from the doorway. ‘Are you awake?’

Charlie rolled over in bed, bringing a hand to his forehead. He squinted in the dark, only a small sliver of light coming from the doorway to give him sight. The shadow of a small person stretched across the floor.

‘I am now,’ Charlie mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He rubbed at his brow, then shifted in his bed, holding open the covers. ‘Come on.’

The door opened a bit wider, creaking on its hinges. Small feet hopped across the floorboards. James climbed onto the mattress with a soft sight. He wriggled for a bit then settled down, facing Charlie.

‘Missing your mum and dad?’ Charlie eventually whispered.

James hummed. ‘They’ve been gone forever.’

Charlie chuckled. ‘It’s been three days now. Your mum will be back on the weekend, your dad just a few days after.’

‘That’s ages.’ James dragged out the last syllable.

‘Pretty lucky that your uncle Charlie is here though, right mate?’

‘I s’pose.’

Charlie scoffed. His nephew didn’t yet have that social filter that stopped most people from saying things like that. To be honest, Charlie wasn’t sure if he would ever develop it, considering a mixture Ginny’s brashness and Harry’s obliviousness.

‘Uncle Charlie?’

Charlie cracked one eye open, brought back once again from the precipice of sleep. ‘Yes, James?’

‘Can you tell me a story? About dragons?’

Momentarily, Charlie wondered how he had chosen the same week to come to the Burrow that Ginny had an overseas exhibition match and Harry a covert auror mission. He swept the thought away and rearranged his pillow. He only knew one story off by heart.

‘Do you know how the dragon got its scales?’

‘The dragon always had scales,’ James said, matter of fact. Charlie shook his head.

‘Not always. Long ago, when witches and wizards still moved out in the open, the dragon had smooth skin, tough, but not nearly as hardy as the scales they have today.’

‘That’s weird.’

‘I know, can you imagine it? A dragon smooth as a snake, flying in these same skies?’ Charlie whispered. James made a face, but inched ever so slightly closer to his uncle, eyes gleaming.

‘The legend starts centuries ago, years and years in the past, James. Magic and muggle folk alike lived in fear- in awe- of an ancient dragon that lived high up in the Welsh mountains. Isolde. Her wings shadowed whole orchards, her maw glinted with fearsome teeth and her skin burnt red in the sun, gleaming like the fire that spewed from her mouth.’

‘She sounds scary!’

‘She was scary,’ Charlie said. ‘But she was like your mum. Blazing fury when she wants to be, but equally as fierce in her love. Fair. Loyal. Kind.’

‘Mum can be scary,’ James mumbled into the pillow. Charlie laughed.

‘Isolde had a home in a cave, far from the closest villages, nestled between rocky ridges and sharp cliffs. There, she had two children of her own. Young dragons that glowed red just like her. Since they had been born, she had been venturing out of the cave more, finding food for them. She glided over the hills and dales, swept across towns and villages until she came to the Welsh coast, where she would dip in and out of the roiling waves collecting fish- ‘

‘-she ate all the fish?’

‘She kept most of it for her babies.’

‘How?’

Charlie sighed. ‘Well, you know, she’d throw up.’

‘Cool,’ James commented. ‘Carry on.’

Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘She tried her best not to bother the people who lived in her habitat. She didn’t much care for them. But the people were bitter. She created hurricanes with one beat of her wings, she brought herds of livestock down from sheer fright alone. She upturned fishing boats; left children unable to sleep at night.’ Charlie flicked James’ nose as he spoke, and the boy squirmed.

‘In the nearest town to her cave, Isolde had been endured as a lifelong pest. A harbinger- that means “bringer”- of chaos. After years of enduring the dragon, the town was finally pushed to the edge as Isolde began to venture from her cave almost every day. Emyr, a proud man who thought himself prominent in the town one day threw down his sword in the middle of the square and proclaimed:

“That dragon has vexed us for the last time! Come thunder or scorching sun Isolde will be mine by morrows eve!”’

James laughed at Charlie’s impersonation of Emyr, complete with roughened Welsh accent.

‘The townspeople were sceptical of Emyr’s proclamation. He was known to be hot-headed. But he was also brutish and strong, his force was something to be reckoned with and many secretly hoped that he would fulfil his promise. Only one person, a powerful druid who lived on the outskirts of the village, understood the power of the dragon, the fate that befell those who tried to interfere with them. But the trees were red and orange with autumn’s hues, awaiting winter when the village would need all the food it could possibly get. If Isolde was leaving her nest every day, it was doubtful they would make it through to the spring. The next day, not knowing of Emyr’s promise, Isolde took flight from her cave.’

‘But she’s going to get hurt!’ James whisper shouted.

Charlie held up his hand. ‘She didn’t know that. Isolde started her journey to the cold Atlantic seas, but after not more than one beat of her wings, she was attacked. Emyr had waited for her in the night, armed with vicious weapons forged in the blacksmith’s shed. Solid metal arrowheads whizzed past her, shooting into the air. Isolde had never been confronted by man in this way before, she tried to ignore him, but then an arrowhead found its target in her smooth skin, and by Emyr’s brute strength she found herself beginning to be pulled to the ground.’

‘It’s horrible!’ James shouted, pulling the covers over his head. Charlie lifted the covers, and crawled underneath them with him. It was warm underneath, and completely dark.

‘I know, but I promise the ending’s better. Do you want to carry on?’

Charlie felt a small hand grip his forearm. ‘Course.’ James whispered.

‘Okay,’ Charlie thought for a moment, then carried on. ‘Isolde was in trouble. More arrows from Emyr were latching onto her, and even though she was a mighty dragon, Emyr was said to have obtained great strength from a dark druid, using ancient magic. Her wings struggled to beat, pulled down to the Earth. As she plummeted down, she resorted to her last defence, her flaming breath. Emyr, who had secretly not believed he would get so far, had not planned for this. He dropped his weapons. Trying to escape the fire, he ran towards the town square. Isolde, though now not under attack, was exhausted. She was bleeding all over, and the effort of creating fire was immense. She followed Emyr, steadily coming closer and closer to the town, closer to the ground.

‘The townspeople were terrified. Emyr had brought down a dragon on them, spewing fire over their roofs. At the edge of the village, the good druid had watched the entire event. He had known Isolde for many years, not as a friend, but as a feature of life, a part of the environment. A vital magical being that deserved none of the violence bestowed upon her. He ran towards the square, meeting Emyr in a sweaty haze, he shouted:

“You fool! You’ve damned us all to fire and flame! Isolde has no part in your affairs, what have you done to her?”

‘Emyr could do nothing but babble and stutter. Half the town was embers, and the heat stalked the two men, steadily approaching. A great gust of wind blew, a huge thump sounded, followed by a crashing. Emyr and the druid turned simultaneously to see Isolde, amongst the flames, collapsed on the ground. The druid cursed, then, drawing up all his strength, he doused the flames with one fell swoop of his staff. The wooden houses still glowed ruby-red, remembering Isolde’s wrath.’

‘Is she okay?’ James asked, a slight waver to his voice. Charlie squeezed his hand.

‘Isolde was a bad state. Though her skin offered some protection to flame, there was no protection for her wounds, where Emyr’s arrows had hit her. Covered in blistering sores, she held on for life.’

James drew in a sharp breath and Charlie briefly questioned his sense in telling his nephew this fable. But he had been told this very story when he was not much older than James, by his own uncle, and ever since then he had been obsessed with dragons. For a moment he lost himself in a memory of his Uncle Gideon handing him a gift, ripped open to reveal a gleaming book on every dragon that existed-

‘Uncle Charlie?’

Charlie came back to the present and smiled softly at James, though he certainly couldn’t see in the dark, hidden away under the covers.

‘The druid knew he had to do something. He knew that Isolde had two little dragons to care for, going out every day, no longer as round in the stomach as she had been in the preceding months. In his panic, he searched for anything to help him. He came to see one solitary tree, unlicked by flames. The bark grew supple and light and stretched into elegant branches, bearing leaves that were not unlike the fire that had come from Isolde’s mouth, every shade of gold, orange, and red.

‘The druid stood up. Planting his feet solidly in the ground, he waved his staff. The leaves from the unburnt tree were shaken off, as if guided by a wind they flew to the druid. Isolde watched him carefully, using all her energy just to keep her eyes open. The leaves swirled and swished. They grew shiny and solid. The druid brought them up one last time, then charged them down, onto Isolde’s body, covering her welts and scars. The leaves hardly resembled what had been on the tree. They were what we are so used to see on dragons today, hardened scales that even the sharpest blade cannot pierce.’

‘The druid saved her!’ James whooped.

‘Shh, your gran and granddad are still sleeping,’ Charlie reminded his nephew. ‘But yes, he saved her.

‘Isolde had been healed by the druid, but she was still in danger. In the eyes of the townspeople, she was still the beast that had decimated their homes. They were angry, bitter and Isolde was still on the ground. A mob gathered, advancing not only on Isolde, but on the druid that had helped her. But Isolde was a loyal dragon. She stretched out her neck for the druid to climb onto- ‘

‘Dad’s ridden a dragon!’ James interrupted.

‘Just like your dad,’ Charlie said. ‘Isolde used her regained strength to beat her great wings, rising once again into the air. Carrying the druid with her, she returned to her babies. In that cave the druid replicated the spell twice more, giving Isolde’s two young dragons scales just as tough and bright as their mothers. The druid then stayed with Isolde for many years. They left their home in Wales to soar across the country, and the druid gave many other dragons scales. That’s why there’s so many different colours, as many as there are of different leaves in different seasons.’

There was a short pause. Charlie could hear James’ soft breath.

‘That’s why all dragons have scales?’

‘Well, according to one Welsh legend,’ Charlie explained. ‘There are a few other stories why, but that’s the one I know best. It’s a bit egotistical of wizards I’ll give you that.’

‘Ego-test-a-what?’

‘Egotistical. Big headed. That we say that dragons, these immense creatures, were given scales by one wizard.’

‘Isolde was nice though. She helped the druid.’

‘That’s true,’ Charlie said.

‘It’s just one story though?’ James asked. He finally popped his head out from the covers, allowing Charlie too to surface for fresh air. He rearranged the covers around them, feeling sleep coming back to him. James was slurring his sentences too, obviously just as tired as he was.

‘Just one,’ Charlie said, closing his eyes. The image of a gleaming book came back to the front of his mind. ‘I’ll tell you what, I reckon there’s an old book of mine in the attic with more stories. We’ll find it tomorrow.’

James yawned. ‘Mmcan’t wait.’

Charlie ruffled his nephew’s hair. ‘Sounds like it, mate.’

**Author's Note:**

> The story that Charlie tells was completely made up by me, and I know very little about Welsh legends and myths so if there are any heinous mistakes, I apologise. The settings and names are perhaps the most Welsh things about it. Largely, inspiration for Charlie's story comes from the format of traditional African stories from tribes such as the Zulu and Shona that describe things like How the Leopard Got his Spots or How the Porcupine Got his Quills.


End file.
